


Five Reasons John Doesn't Care if he Ever Returns to Earth

by sheafrotherdon



Category: Stargate Atlantis
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2007-01-03
Updated: 2007-01-03
Packaged: 2017-10-11 23:34:15
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 624
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/118382
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sheafrotherdon/pseuds/sheafrotherdon





	Five Reasons John Doesn't Care if he Ever Returns to Earth

1.

He's lived by the ocean before – illicit weeks spent sleeping in his car; two months mooching off a friend with a beach view; a scattering of nights spent asleep on the sand – but he's never known a body of water he loves so well as this one. The ocean around Atlantis feels sentient, protective. It's counter-intuitive, especially after the storm, but he supposes some part of himself still hums with appreciation that the sea's depths hid his city for so long, folded her close in turquoise-tipped safety, kept her away from the eyes of the Wraith.

Whatever the reason, there's peace on the east pier, on the balconies, in his quarters, listening to the steady lap of waves, the spill of surf. On all but his worst days he can close his eyes and the ocean will soothe him into darkness – and on his worst days, it'll keep him company in the restless hours of night.

2.

He misses football, funnel cakes, Ferris wheels; gets a longing for a stale cup of diner coffee once in a while. He'd like to see a movie in a real goddamn movie theatre again, and the itch in his fingers to drive stick-shift across the desert's never going to fade.

But here he has not-eggs and blue stuff that's sort of caffeinated, vegetables that are striped and fruit that tastes brown. The kids teach him stick-yell, and he sits around fires and listens to stories, and almost every day he flies a spaceship with his ever-loving _mind_.

So he reckons it's a good trade – scalded Folgers for the midnight chill at the Athos settlement; a mustang for a jumper; Coors for the hooch that he swears strips his vocal chords; buddies dead and gone for the swell of Ronon's laughter to his right.

3.

 _Warmer_ , he thinks, head bowed beneath the shower's spray. _Hot_ , he commands when even that's not enough. The water heats and he groans with satisfaction, warmth slowly easing the pains in his back. _Just a little cooler_ , he mentally adjusts, and _oh God, I'm never giving up this shit_ as the shower does exactly as he wants.

4.

When he skims a hand along Atlantis' walls, she warms to his touch, nudges against him, hoarding contact and whispering thanks. He wonders how long she felt neglected, if she knew there'd be others who'd come back to claim her, or if she sank to the ocean's floor accepting the dull, empty loss she felt.

He understands her; grasps in a way the others don't that she craves his touch, his now-and-then smiles. So he promises her loyalty, leans against her walls, her desks, her consoles, and coaxes her happy with every glancing, fingertip-skim.

5.

He knows he could have this back home – in a bigger bed no less; gather up this lazy-morning warmth, this tangle of sated limbs. But he found this here – the slow, soft press of Rodney's lips, parting with uncertainty, deft hands fisting in John's shirt to still their trembling when they kissed, clicked teeth, shifted and kissed again. He found it and hoarded it, astonished by his greed, the bone-deep need he had to touch and be touched, to map the imperfect wash of skin from Rodney's thigh to his throat, to have a mouth press desperate murmurs into the skin of his belly, his hip, to rise up and come with force enough to empty his mind. This is his Pegasus gift, this wash of breath across his chest, this heavy weight against his side, and he closes his eyes, turns his cheek to bury his nose in sleep-messed hair, and knows he never needs to see Earth again when his home is ocean and Rodney and sky.


End file.
